Left at the altar...
...reunited under the stars!
In this Doctors Under the Stars story, Lia Monterrosa arrives at the Antarctic science station as resident staff doctor...and comes face-to-face with her ex-fiancé! Working in close confines means brooding Dr. Weston MacIntyre can’t hide the painful reason he left Lia at the altar much longer. Lia knows she must guard her heart—especially since desire as bright as the southern lights still blazes between them!
Doctors Under the Stars
Finding adventure—and love—beneath the glittering Antarctic sky
It’s the chance of a lifetime to work in the Antarctic, and a chance for each intrepid doctor to escape their painful past. Yet trapped together in the beauty—and danger—of the frozen landscape, colleagues get close, secrets slip out, and tension and passions hit an all-time high!
Find out more in
His Surgeon Under the Southern Lights
by Robin Gianna
Marine biologist Dr. Zeke Edwards and surgeon Dr. Jordan Flynn are not looking for love, but passion leads to a temporary fling. Only, soon they are breaking all their self-imposed rules.
Reunited in the Snow
by Amalie Berlin
Dr. Lia Monterrosa has come to confront the man who left her at the altar—not fall for Dr. Weston MacIntyre all over again! But working so closely together, their rekindled desire is impossible to ignore.
Both available now!
Dear Reader,
Collaborating with another author to link books is the best thing, which is why I don’t know how Robin Gianna and I never got around to it before!
Robin first sold to Harlequin a couple months after I did, and since the day my editor tweeted a welcome to a fellow Buckeye (an Ohioan), we’ve been friends (because I emailed a stranger in deranged welcome-onboard fashion).
Robin is brutally talented, intelligent and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Her writing is warm and her books are full of heart, just like the woman herself. I count myself lucky to call her a friend and get to work with her.
While it has been challenging to bring to life the romance in the harshest environment on earth, I’m not mad about the arm-flailing emails (I mostly sent), or the times we “had to” meet in the middle for lunch and to brainstorm our way through the problems.
My only regret is that life hasn’t allowed us that writing retreat we kept talking about. You know, time away to be productive. And by productive, I mean tea and talking books and writing until roosters crow.
Next time.
xo Amalie
Reunited in the Snow
Amalie Berlin
Books by Amalie Berlin
Harlequin Medical Romance
Scottish Docs in New York
Their Christmas to Remember
Healed Under the Mistletoe
Hot Greek Docs
Back in Dr. Xenakis’ Arms
Christmas in Manhattan
The Rescue Doc’s Christmas Miracle
Hot Latin Docs
Dante’s Shock Proposal
Desert Prince Docs
Challenging the Doctor Sheikh
The Hollywood Hills Clinic
Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy
Return of Dr. Irresistible
Breaking Her No-Dating Rule
Surgeons, Rivals...Lovers
Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh
The Prince’s Cinderella Bride
Rescued by Her Rival
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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To my Mamaw Mary, who reads more than any other person I have ever met (because she’s awesome), and who still reads all of my books. Except for the sexy parts. (I don’t know if that part’s true, but I want to believe it, so I DO no matter what anyone else says. La-la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you!)
Praise for Amalie Berlin
“The dialogue was well-written, and a wonderful combination of intense, emotional and playful.... I would recommend Dante’s Shock Proposal by Amalie Berlin if you enjoy the fake relationship or marriage of convenience trope or a story where the hero makes the heroine an offer hard to refuse.”
—Harlequin Junkie
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE NURSE'S CHRISTMAS TEMPTATION BY ANN McINTOSH
CHAPTER ONE
DR. LIA MONTERROSA had not inherited the seafaring, adventurous spirit of her Portuguese ancestors. But she talked a good game.
None of her traveling companions appeared to be any more sprightly than she was after the long, arduous journey. Each lugged modest amounts of luggage down the pristine, shiny corridors of the brand-new Antarctic research station where they’d just arrived, no spring in any thick-booted step. All of them were carrying what would see them through the long months of a dark Antarctic winter.
She’d heard various reasons for coming—once-in-a-lifetime experience, work they wanted to do and could best accomplish locked up for eight solid months with fifty strangers. For her, that was the upside of her trip—being surrounded by people who didn’t know her, and therefore had no expectations about how she should behave. She didn’t have to be the strongest person on the planet, and she didn’t have to be the most docile, polite one, either.
But her ex-fiancé was who she’d come to find. To ask why he was her ex. What had happened during the four days she’d been gone, home in Portugal, that had made him decide he didn’t love her anymore, didn’t want to marry her? To ask why he’d been cold enough to also go missing while she was filing paperwork with the Polícia Judiciária to locate her missing father.
He hadn’t left a message. Hadn’t scribbled his farewell on a sticky note affixed to the bathroom mirror. He’d just stopped answering her calls, and three days before her wedding, when she’d had a moment free to go back to London and look for him, as well, she’d found his flat vacated, job vacated, mobile phone canceled. He’d left her with the beautiful ring they’d painstakingly designed together, and a hole in her chest so big a truck could pass through.
But she would see him today, the end of too many months of torture. If fate was with her, he’d provide answers. Closure, if that was a real thing that actually happened, and not just some psychobabble placebo. Closure, no closure—it didn’t really matter. The end was coming. The final end. The official end that had been denied her when she’d come home to find him gone.
Right on cue, her stomach plummeted—a sensation she should’ve become immune to by now, but which still had the ability to wrench away brief control of her extremities. Her booted foot scuffed the floor, but she didn’t fall—walking was a little easier to recover from than errant hand-twitches in surgery when a slight wrong move could end a life. Knowing what had ended them would help, even if it was just another case of her not being enough. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t fix whatever she’d done
wrong if she didn’t know what it was.
“Dr. Monterrosa, you’re in Pod C,” her guide said, jerking her from her thousandth thought-spiral of this trip, and gesturing to a nondescript door with a circular window at head height—the kind peppering the station, and which reminded her of doors on boats.
The group all stopped long enough for the woman to add, “With you lot arriving at the end of summer, you’re getting stacked where there is an open cabin.”
And she was the only one in C, which would practically become a ghost town in little more than a week when she could probably have her pick of rooms. After Jordan and Zeke left. After West...
Lia opened her mouth to ask the number, but her fatigue was starting to show. The guide answered before she even formed the first sluggish word.
“Last door on the left, end of the hall.”
With a soft, tired grunt, Lia hoisted one of her two meager bags onto her shoulder and entered without another word. Through the door and into a much dimmer hallway, somewhere obviously designed for sleeping through the twenty-four-hour days of summer.
She had about three seconds to see it as the door swung closed and the bright light from the corridor dissipated, but all she really saw was beige. Walls. Low-static carpeting. White doors dotting both sides of the hall. Snow blind, she waited only long enough for general shapes to form in her vision, allowing her to navigate without bumping into walls or running over strangers in the hallway.
Dr. Weston MacIntyre would never know what had hit him. She had the upper hand, and she needed it. He’d expect her to come at him with guns blazing, and that method had its own appeal. It might help her hide the hole and all the raw-hamburger emotions lining the inside.
Jordan knew she was coming. Her best friend from medical school and almost maid of honor had been the one to call Lia the day West had shown up at Fletcher Station, the person she’d gone to for help shutting down a wedding when hope was finally lost, but she hadn’t even known if he was alive. She’d had months to prepare herself for this confrontation, to script every word and every motion in her head, compose the best emasculating zingers and lists of all the ways she would never, and had never, missed him. But with the starting gun ready to sound, the idea of actually saying any of those things left her cold. Colder than the balmy ten below that she’d walked through from the bus to the station. No one who went halfway around the world to find another person could honestly say she hadn’t missed him. Hadn’t worried. But it felt better to pretend. Lies could comfort.
She made a sharp right bend in the hallway and kept walking. Halfway to the end, her vision had cleared enough to see a tall, broad man with a black knit hat and an equally black beard standing outside the last two doors, keys in hand, staring in her direction.
In another couple of meters, her stomach did that dropping thing again and this time when her limb control faltered, the only thing that saved her from further humiliation was the meager stability offered by the suitcase rolling beside her.
West.
It was West.
Her polished, ever-immaculate fiancé. Former fiancé. But far scruffier.
Her whole world slowed down, and the remaining length of the hallway grew longer than the thousands of kilometers she’d traveled to reach this hallway with this man.
Instead of a tirade, her mind filled with all the times she’d walked toward him. Right back to that first time they’d met in a London hospital, when a newly minted general surgeon had required an assist and been told to pull one of the not-busy neurosurgical fellows. Her. And the way he’d watched her approaching after having her paged, down the hallway to where he loitered at the nurses’ station, his eyes broadcasting bold, open interest until he’d heard her name. How she’d pretended not to notice the looks, how she’d managed to ignore her own attraction for three whole days before she’d asked him out.
London Lia did those things. London Lia was fearless. At least on the outside. Because it was what everyone expected of her.
Lifting her chin, Lia held his gaze now, struggling to ignore the burst of other memories. All the church aisles they’d tried on looking for the perfect church for their wedding. When he’d looked at her with the promise of a long future dancing in his eyes, the future he delighted in planning and dreaming into existence with her.
Time sped back up. Her heart squeezed hard once, then began stomping a chula around her sternum, fast enough she’d have been silencing alarms on her fitness monitor if the battery hadn’t died on the trip down. And her stomach, which had been lurching and freefalling for the duration of the trip, went hollow, and cold. Then the nausea hit.
He didn’t speak or look away, just stared. There was an intensity in his gaze, but nothing loving. She’d call it a glare were it not for the pallor she could see when she got closer.
Was this it? The burning in her eyes said so. All happening before she’d even dropped off her luggage?
She wasn’t ready.
What could she say? What had she even practiced? She was supposed to say something. She’d come all this way to say things. Learn things. Remove the weight of betrayal and loss that glittered on her left ring finger.
The ring that symbolized that future they’d planned weighted her finger and something like relief weighted her tongue. Relief. Regret. Betrayal.
If she’d slept at all on the way there, she would’ve been able to think. She’d be able to look away from his eyes, and her ears wouldn’t be ringing in a way that made her worry about a stroke. She’d hear something other than her own loud, labored breathing in the dead space in her chest.
The Lia he knew would say the words. Slap him, maybe. Shake answers out of him. Something. But whoever she was now didn’t have that in her.
As the seconds stretched out his shock turned to something else, something harder, and she gave up the mental scramble for words to wait him out, watching anger flare in his eyes, bitterness turn the mouth she’d lived to kiss into a slash amid the facial hair she’d never before seen him wear.
But he didn’t say anything, either. No words from either of them. The only acknowledgment that she had any more meaning to him than a stranger came in the form of gritted teeth.
As if he had any right to be angry with her. She hadn’t left him practically at the altar.
She opened her mouth, but before she’d even mustered a word, he stepped past her and silently stormed down the hallway, rigid and straight. Angry. So angry, with her.
He was nearly to the bend, with his rigid posture and determination to yet again get away from her. She’d gone around the world to find him, but in that moment, she had no energy left to chase.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly out.
In her memories, it seemed she was always walking toward him—down hallways, church aisles, even on staircases in the hospital where they’d meet for a quick kiss between patients or rounds. She didn’t have it in her to watch him walking away. That was the only kindness afforded her by the manner of his leaving—she hadn’t even seen it coming, let alone had to watch him going.
God, she was so stupid.
There were other Antarctic research stations she could’ve gone to. A whole world where no one knew her and she could sort herself out without pressure, get ready for the new life waiting for her outside of medicine. This wasn’t going to be productive enough to endure the pain that went with it.
Bending her head, she pinched her eyes harder shut, so the pressure swirled colors and shadow to light behind her eyelids, blocking out the mental replay of things she’d obviously never have again with him.
And none of this should surprise her. Of course he didn’t want to talk to her. She was the personification of the past, and West had always avoided talking about the past. Only the future. And she was no longer part of his future. Or she was only part of his immediate future, for the next ten days, unti
l he could escape.
He would talk to her. She’d figure out what to say to him, what she really wanted to say, not just what her broken heart wanted to shout. They’d be working together, seeing each other every day. He’d talk, or he’d listen. After she’d gotten some sleep, she’d conjure the words.
That was the one good thing about becoming Lia again. She’d been Ophelia while at home in Portugal, and that had taken time to adjust to, too. She’d remember how to be Lia. Lia, who always had opinions and wasn’t afraid to share them. And maybe by the time she left Antarctica, she’d figure out who she really was, outside the judging eyes of people who had expectations of her.
Sleep would help. Being around her best friend again would help her remember Lia, the version of herself she preferred to the sober, sad child she’d been.
“Lia?”
She hadn’t heard anyone approach, but the sound of her name in her best friend’s voice pulled her eyes open again. Once again, she saw anger in the eyes of someone she loved, but this time, it wasn’t directed at her.
“What did he say?” Jordan demanded, grabbing her in a quick, hard hug that grounded her enough to banish church aisles and promises of forever from cluttering up her ability to speak.
What had he said?
“Nothing,” Lia muttered, making her arms contract, giving an underachieving hug in return. “He said nothing.”
When Jordan leaned back, her scowl had grown deeper, firmer. “What did you say to him? Did you tell him he’s the world’s smallest man and you hoped global warming would eventually thaw out his glacial heart? Would be the only good thing to come from it.”
Jordan with the better zingers than Lia, despite the months of practice and mental composing she’d done.
Lia just shook her head, no heart for it. “I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t expecting to see him yet.”
“I was going to tell you. I arranged it so he couldn’t get too far away if he wanted to sleep at all while he’s here.”
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